Frequently I urge people of my generation to write down what they recall of their younger days, not just their personal memories but also to describe where they lived and what their town or village – or city – was like. Without these memories, history will be lost.
In the early 1900s, an 82-year-old man from Maine wrote what he remembered of his village and what it was like around 1870. Perhaps this will remind you of stories you’ve heard in your own family and if so, again I urge you to write it down and send it to your local historical society, give a copy to a young relative to save – or even send it to me.
Here’s what the man wrote in the early 1900s. He was the son of a local doctor:
“We traveled along the main road by stagecoach. The road was dirt, and the sidewalks were paths. Elm trees lined the roads, trees which would later on fall victim to Dutch Elm disease. Water troughs along the way were a welcome respite for travelers – horses and humans. Along the narrow dirt road, the horses clip-clopped, leaving behind not the gasoline fumes of today’s traffic, but reminders of their travel, all the same. (There was no pooper-scooper movement in those days!)
“Blacksmith shops were the precursor to today’s filling stations. At these shops, the hot fire and clanking of the smithy’s tools must have seemed as loud as the motors and tires of today. Along with the blacksmith, there were a number of taverns or inns – places where meals were served and overnight accommodations for the traveler and his team of horses.
“When one got to the village, after a long journey from the city of Portland, the first building on the left was the schoolhouse. It was a plain building with a low gable roof. It had one door in the south end. There was an entry on the east side, and a wood room on the west end. (Wood was the fuel in those days.) School began at 9 a.m. and the kids (all ages together in one room) left at 4 p.m.
“Water for the students was carried from a nearby well. The water was in a pail at the school, where students used a dipper when they were thirsty. Light in the school was provided by oil (kerosene) lamps. One night a week, a writing school was held at which old and young could attend. Students had a dark walk home!”
The above was written about the village of North Windham – or Poverty Corner, as it was once known. This winter, be sure and start writing down memories of where and how you grew up – no one else can do it.
Kay Soldier welcomes reader ideas for column topics of interest to seniors. She can be reached by email at kso48@aol.com, or write to 114 Tandberg Trail, Windham, ME 04062.
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